


Late-Night Jams

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Bisexual Dean, Canon Bisexual Character, Comforting Dean, Domestic Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Family Dynamics, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Castiel, Light Angst, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Young Emma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:17:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4678289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean climbed up and out of his sheets, lunging for the bat he kept tucked behind the nightstand. After years of looking after his hypertensive little brother, his sleeping habits had grown lighter. Now that he was a happily married man, it was more of a curse than a blessing when something as small as the glint from his wedding ring could stir him.</p><p>Or something as catastrophic as an ear-splitting crash that makes you want to bury yourself underneath the covers until you’re convinced you never heard anything.</p><p>Inspired by the Tumblr prompt: You found me crying on the kitchen floor in the middle of the night surrounded by a shattered jelly jar AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late-Night Jams

**Author's Note:**

> To my regulars, I apologize. School has me on a short leash.
> 
> To the casual browsers who thought this story looked halfway decent and decided to check it out: Keep scrolling until you get to the story; nothing to see here.

Dean climbed up and out of his sheets, lunging for the bat he kept tucked behind the nightstand. After years of looking after his hypertensive little brother, his sleeping habits had grown lighter. Now that he was a happily married man, it was more of a curse than a blessing when something as small as the glint from his wedding ring could stir him.

Or something as catastrophic as an ear-splitting crash that makes you want to bury yourself underneath the covers until you’re convinced you never heard anything.

He padded down the hall, mindful of the pint-sized occupant in the room next door who surprisingly slept through the ruckus. (Not unlike her mother during conception…)

Once Dean rounded the living room, he hid behind the plaster thinly dividing him from reality. Heart pounding riotously in his chest, he white-knuckled his father’s Louisville Slugger a little tighter before he sprung out, catching the trespasser by surprise. Only he ended up being the one taken aback as he drank in the scene before him.

Cas was crouched over a shattered Mason jar. And he was crying.

His pajama bottoms were pooled around ankles and his skeleton fingers pawed helplessly at those baby blues Dean so cherished like a newly spayed kitten. If it weren’t for the two thin lines of water raining down his forearms, Dean wouldn’t have known he was crying. Cas was always the strong, silent type. Seeing him in this state was unsettling. This was the same guy who pissed on his father’s grave after his reception.

Dean recalled the words from his own reception: “For better or for worse.” Or, as it had come out when he’d been asked to repeat after the officiant: “Long after the levee breaks.”

“Babe, what’s wrong? What’re you doing up so late?” The bat fell with a resounding _clank_ as he squatted on the cold tile beside him. Cas removed his hands and Dean saw his blue eyes were shining with tears. He watched him grab a small shard of glass, rolling it in his hands.

“Everything is so fragile, Dean,” he whispered through clenched teeth.

Dean chuckled weakly, trying to lighten the mood with a joke: “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to cry over spilt milk?” That remark only made him cry more, so Dean settled for taking him into his arms, letting him empty his leaking soul onto his Joy Division t-shirt.

“What is this about, baby?” he said, rubbing small circles into his back. “You can tell me.”

It slipped out of him like a loose fart, foul and unpredictable: “I got laid off.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to feel like I’ve let you down, let _us_ down,” he croaked, sniffling into Ian Curtis’s microphone. “I now realize that I only feel that way for not telling you sooner.”

He grabbed Cas’s face and pulled him onto his lap before he could protest. “You could never let us down, baby, _never_.” Pausing, he cast a glance at the broken jelly jar. “I wish I could say the same for ol’ Welch over there.” Cas slapped him. “What were you doing, anyway?”

The sobbing had been contained to small hiccups and involuntary ripples, but between those sapphire eyes and that pouty bottom lip, Cas still succeeded in giving him the most pitiful look as he said, “I was trying to make you a PB&J.”

“Oh my God _,_ ” he laughed, throwing his head back.

“What?” demanded Cas.

“I love you, that’s what _,_ ” he said, leaning in again. “And I’m going to kiss you now.”

And that’s exactly what he did, except he had to keep it PG for the soft pitter-patter of feet coming around the bend. Emma was at that age where she was starting to narrate every occurrence, big or small, and Dean wanted to avoid that call from Miss Jody claiming that Emma announced to her kindergarten class that her two daddies were swapping coodies.

“Daddies, _what_ do you think you’re doing?” she inquired, hands braced on her tiny hips like she was being personally outed by two of her most trusted friends. That’s the last time he let Uncle Sam babysit.

Chuckling, Cas dropped his head, placing a furtive kiss into Dean’s neck before stepping over the jagged remains of the Mason jar to pick up Emma. He twirled her around in his arms until she broke into a paroxysm of piercing giggles. “I think I’m making peanut butter and banana sandwiches, but I can’t be too sure. Wanna help me figure it out?”

“Yeah!” she squealed, wriggling out of his arms and sprinting for the kitchenette. Dean watched the scene with a warm smile on his face. They say the honeymoon phase dies after the first couple years together. If that’s the case then Dean’s never been in love because every day, along with getting older, he only grows fonder for his husband.

Dean had to skip out on the sandwich making in favor of sweeping the tile. He didn’t mind because he had the best view in the house: Cas hunched over the counter, pulling out a fresh loaf of Wonder Bread with Emma perched on his shoulders, one hand digging into his unruly mop of hair, the other gesticulating wildly in the direction of the necessary fixings.

It was then he knew that they would be okay.


End file.
